


Lucky Stars

by ks_villain



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Drunk Sex, Friendship, M/M, One Shot, Public Sex, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:32:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ks_villain/pseuds/ks_villain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Han’s worst day ever suddenly takes a turn for the better, who is he to question his good fortune?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucky Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moontyger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moontyger/gifts).



> (1) Warnings: Only the barest attempt at plot, a semi-public hand job and scoundrels being scoundrels. 
> 
> (2) Many thanks to my lovely beta-reader [Ambyr](http://ambyr.livejournal.com/profile) for helping me at such short notice. Thank you!
> 
> ***

“Don’t worry, Han, old buddy, what could possibly go wrong.” Lando had casually dropped an arm around Han’s shoulders and smiled like he always did when he had one of his crazy ideas. 

_Yeah, what could possibly go wrong._ Han would have snorted, had he any breath left for such activities. As it was, he just continued to fill his burning lungs with air as he sprinted down the hangar. In a desperate attempt to shake his pursuers, he abruptly changed course and chose a random door to the left.

He should have known from the start that the whole enterprise would end in catastrophic failure. Well, technically he _had_ known. He had even said so, repeatedly. But Lando could be quite persuasive at times, when he had set his mind on something. Especially when there was a hefty profit involved. 

Willing his legs to keep moving despite the pain in his cramping muscles, Han rounded a few more corners before he slowed down and tried to orient himself. He could no longer hear the sounds of the security guards chasing him. The blaster fire had stopped as well, and Han briefly entertained the idea that his luck was finally changing. 

Then he rounded the next corner and all but collided with one of the guards who had spend the better half of the day trying to shoot him down. The biggest and meanest looking of them at that. Cursing the universe, this hell-hole of a planet, his bad luck and above all Lando, who had gotten him into this mess in the first place, Han spun around and dove for cover. 

Damn that blasted scoundrel for abandoning him and saving his own skin. Laser fire streaked over his head as Han pressed himself tightly against the cargo chests, wishing he had not lost his trusted blaster. He kept his head down as best as he could and felt in his pocket for the shape of the data pad that had caused him so much trouble.

If the information contained on the pad was worth at least half as much as Lando had promised, he would finally be able to pay back a few debts. And afford that upgrade to the _Falcon’s_ shields. But first he had to get out of here alive. 

As if on cue, one of the shooters hit the chest right next to Han’s head, almost blinding him for a moment. Blast it! They were really getting better at aiming, but that was hardly surprising, considering how much practice they had gotten lately.

Han could hear the engines of something big closing in, a troop transporter or even a smaller spacecraft. They had him cornered good. Normally that would not have worried the young Corellian much; he had a talent for finding a way out of even the most hopeless situation. But considering how much had already gone wrong today. . . . 

His spectacular streak of bad luck had started with a game of sabbac almost 20 standard hours ago. Since then he had been enduring speeder bike malfunctions, communication mishaps and an amorous Devaronian freighter pilot on top of that, and now everything he would get for his troubles was a trial and a foul smelling cell. 

_If he was lucky._ “Keep your hands where we can see them, Solo!” Han resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Starring into the barrels of half a dozen blasters and an equal number of angry faces from at least three different species, Han put on his most disarming smile and rose slowly. Maybe he could talk some sense into them. Some of them looked as if they could at least be bribed. 

A loud explosion shook the entire building and threw him to the ground. When the dust and debris had cleared a bit, Han dared to look up, only to see a familiar face looking down at him. 

“You didn’t think I would leave you here, did you?” 

Lando spread his hands in a gesture of surrender, trying his best to look charming (at which he succeeded to some degree) and trustworthy (at which he failed completely). Luckily Han was too exhausted and disoriented by the explosion to offer much resistance as he was helped up and dragged toward a waiting speeder bike.

“What, no ‘thank you’? I came back to save your hide, and that’s all you’ve got to say?”

Lando looked far too pleased with himself. Had he not been driving their escape vehicle, Han would have hit him. 

***

A few hours later, after they were sure they had shaken off the last of their pursuers, Han made them stop in front of a shady cantina. The neon signs advertised a great variety of alcoholic drinks and other stimulants. Han had decided he could use a drink after all he had been through. Better yet, several of them.

Even though the place was located in one of the less-savoury districts of town, Han felt a bit self-conscious as he stumbled toward a free table. His legs hurt and his clothes were dirty and torn in several places; in short, he looked like a man who had escaped the planet’s security by crawling through the sewers. Which he had.

When nobody gave them more than a cursory glance, Han relaxed a bit and slopped down gracelessly in the semi-privacy of a secluded table. Lando, whose appearance was miraculously impeccable as always, went to fetch their drinks.

During the first rounds, Han drank his ale in relative silence, shooting indignant looks at the man sitting next to him, but with every drink he relented a bit. 

At the end of the day Han Solo was a pragmatic man. He never dwelled too much on the past; what mattered was the here and now. And right now he was safe and in the possession of a data pad that would make him rich. Thinking of what he could buy with the credits, Han felt a warm sensation spreading in his chest. Or maybe that was the alcohol. 

Han knew from experience that it was difficult to stay angry with Lando for long. On top of that, he was paying for Han’s drinks to make up for the late rescue. Sighing, Han gave in and started to tell the tale of his narrow escape—with only minor exaggeration.

Lando was sipping an expensive wine, laughing occasionally as Han re-told his adventures, especially at the story of the amorous Deveronian. Han still shuddered to remember the incident.

Clapping Han’s back in a comforting manner, Lando eyed the cheap ale the Corellian had ordered. “I never understood why you keep drinking that terrible stuff. You really don’t want anything else? I’m paying.”

“No-oh, thank you. I’ve always preferred a good honest ale to fancy drinks like yours. . . .” 

Trying to mask his slur, Han gulped down the rest of his glass. The alcohol burned all the way down his throat. The flavor was not really pleasant, but he liked it nonetheless. It was definitely an acquired taste. And it reminded him of his time in the academy, when he had been leading a different life. But nobody needed to know that. 

Han felt weary beyond words, but truth be told he had never been really angry. Deep down he knew that Lando would never betray him, not with anything important at least. They were partners. Friends. Which meant he would make Lando pay for a few more drinks before he relieved him of his bad conscience.

“Still angry?” Lando passed him another drink. “Come on, Han, I had to get out of there. If they had shot me in the casino, who would have come and rescued you?”

Han snorted, feeling more than a little drunk by now. “Don’t try to play the hero, Lando, you probably only came back for the prize.” Patting the data pad in his pocket with a smug expression, he leaned back in his seat. 

When Han stretched his legs under the table, a faint moan escaped his lips at the needle pricking pain. “Ugh, my legs are killing me.” 

“I’m wounded that you think so low of me, old friend.” Lando’s grin turned suddenly very mischievous “Let me prove my sincerity.” 

Han suddenly felt a warm hand resting on his knee. It inched higher and higher, massaging his taut muscles in a very nice kind of way. Despite the ale he had consumed, he knew where this was going from half a galaxy away, and he knew he should push the hand away, should answer with a determined “no” or at least a “not in public, you scoundrel,” but he did nothing of the sort. 

Maybe it was the alcohol or the adrenaline from the day’s adventures, maybe both, but Han found himself unable to make his mouth say the words. Instead, his lips drew into a lopsided smile.

“That only proves you can’t keep your hands off me.” Yeah, he was definitely drunk. 

The hand slid higher still, until it rested teasingly against his half-hard cock. Han had to force himself not to grind his hips against it. They were in a public place for Sith’s sake. Suddenly apprehensive, he looked around in the badly lit room, but no one was paying them any attention. 

Lando seemed perfectly calm and far more innocent than a man about to give a handjob under the table had any right to look. Leaning a bit closer, he began rubbing his palm against the rough fabric of Han’s trousers. The friction felt good, Han though, very, very good. 

“I know, I’m . . . hnnn . . . irresistible.” 

Han had to swallow as the hand found its way inside and suddenly there was skin on skin and dexterous fingers wrapped around his length. Cheeks burning, he checked again if none of the other guests was watching. Nobody was, but the thought that they could . . . it sent shivers up his thighs. Or maybe that was Lando’s talented hand.

Stifling a small moan, Han had to fight for control. His own hands were grabbing the dirty table for support as Lando took up a proper rhythm, up and down with measured, controlled strokes. 

With a wink to the other customers, Lando came closer still and murmured teasingly,  
“If I had known that you’d enjoy this so much, I would have done this a lot earlier.” 

Han could not seem to formulate an appropriate quip. His ability to talk had deserted him at this point, and he opted for keeping his mouth shut before any awkward sounds came out. It was already embarrassing how fast he approached climax. Han firmly blamed the alcohol. How many drinks had he had? 

The strokes were getting faster, increasing the heat in his abdomen until he knew he would not hold out much longer. Knuckles turning white with the force of his grip, Han bit his lip as the pleasure erupted in a dizzying wave that left him reeling. On any other day he would have been disgusted by the mess, but today it hardly troubled him. He felt dirty enough not to care.

Panting slightly, a blissful smile threatening to show on his face, Han sank back in his seat. The world was spinning noticeably. When he grabbed for his glass, he noticed that it was empty, but Lando just laughed and volunteered to fetch them another round.

Through the happy fog in his head, Han thought that finally his long day of misfortune had turned for the better. 

Then Han started to wonder why Lando was taking so long.

Then he panicked, feeling for the shape of the data pad in his pocket.

It was gone. So was Lando.


End file.
